


Even Beyond

by MistandThyme



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Crowley Was Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Noah's Ark, POV Crowley (Good Omens), POV Outsider, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:41:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23681011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistandThyme/pseuds/MistandThyme
Summary: Crowley wasn't a paticularly good demon, but he'd also been a catastrophe of an archangel, so at least he was consistent.Aka. Crowley was Raphael and he never quite stopped healing people.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 213





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first fanfiction and it's gonna be a mess! Have fun!

“So, Beelz, I have a question,” Gabriel said as he sat in his office, the call on speaker phone.

“Vhat?” they replied, voice grinding with warning as the reply came crackling through. At this point they’d given up trying to correct the archangel’s bastardisation of their name.

“What happened to Raphael in the end?” he asked, twirling a pen between his fingers. They had been Brothers of sorts at one time and occasionally (very, very, very, very occasionally) he would feel something akin to loss when he thought about the angel that made stars and healed wings.

There was a pause and a buzzing from the line (from the flies, of course, the reception in heaven was always perfect). “We have no recordz of Raphael in our zystem. It was azzumed that he didn’t Fall.”

At that, Gabriel frowned, pen stilling. “What? Didn’t Fall? But, Michael pushed him herself. Surely you have some record of the Fallen's previous identities in your files?”

The angry buzzing grew louder. “Namez were taken at the sulphur pitz, howezer there vas no Raphael. I took ze names myself, zo I would know.”

“That’s very odd,” Gabriel said, leaning back. The topic wasn’t discussed again as the two hereditary enemies went about arranging a time to consume gross matter together on earth (well- Gabriel refused to taint his holy body with such filth and he’d likely push his plate towards Beelzebub to finish after sniffing it, but details, details).

Later, Gabriel visited the Holy Water fountain. Michael and Uriel were already there, sipping at their drinks as he approached. When he had his own vessel of pure matter, he glanced at Michael.

“Michael, are you certain Raphael Fell?” he asked, causing the other angel to almost choke on her drink.

“Of course I am,” she snapped. “I shoved him myself.”

“Hell has no records of him,” Gabriel continued.

This time Uriel pursed their lips. “None at all? But their filing system is second only to ours.” All three angels shuddered a little at the compliment to Hell and they each took an extra serving of Holy Water to cleanse themselves of the taint.

“There was...talk,” Gabriel said with a significant expression that the other archangels immediately understood. “It’s curious the humans still speak of the Archangel Raphael even now, yet neither side has heard anything from him in 6000 years.”

Michael pursed her lips. “We could check our records, I suppose. As much as it pains me, perhaps there’s been a clerical error?”

Again, there was more shuddering and sipping of Holy Water. As a trio, they eventually made their way into the filing system, arranged in a cavernous space of floating paperwork and alphabetized filing cabinets. Perfect and orderly as things should be.

...P...Q...R.

Gabriel halted and moved down the row until he found it. “Raphael, Archangel,” he read aloud as the other two joined him. The filing cabinet was immaculately perfect and completely unassuming.

“Who wants to open it?” Uriel whispered from the rear, peering around Michael’s shoulder.

Gabriel grimaced and cleared his throat, while Michael muttered something under her breath and stepped towards it. With a hesitant hand, she reached out and then pulled the cabinet open.

Three things happened at once. Michael recoiled with a panicked glare. Uriel’s eyes widened and they clasped their hands together. Gabriel, meanwhile, let out a gasp that wouldn’t have been out of place coming from a Victorian maiden.

The drawer was absolutely packed. It being heaven, the cabinet wasn’t overcrowded, yet the space within had clearly expanded many times over to accommodate the amount of paper within. Michael reached inside and took out some of the slips.

“They’re all miracle records,” she said, sounding dumbfounded. “Specifically, records of healing. From the amount here, it must go back to Eden and maybe even Before.”

“Almighty,” Uriel whispered, taking another slip. “One bone healing miracle, 2001, performed on the mortal Henry Strenham.”

Gabriel took one from further back. “One life saving blood clot removal, 1285, performed on the mortal Eris Kormos.”

There was a silence as the three stood still. None of them knew what to do, what to say. The hush was interrupted by a slip of paper that zipped over. Before it slid into place with the others, Michael caught it in mid air.

“Fifteen lung healing miracles, 2020, performed on ICU patients 2-16,” she read aloud.

“He's been out there,” Uriel murmured, “healing, all this time. But if he’s Fallen, why are his records here?”

Gabriel made a dismissive huffing noise while Michael returned the cards to their rightful place.

“There’s only healing miracles here,” Michael said, frowning a little. “None of the frivolous miracles that you’d expect from someone stationed with mortals. It stands to reason that perhaps Hell is receiving the rest, while these aren’t considered demonic enough to be picked up by their system.”

“What kind of useless demon manages to be too nice for Hell?” Gabriel sniffed, closing the cabinet.

Michael raised an eyebrow. “Raphael was never a very good Archangel either, too mischievous and unpredictable, but not violent. Perhaps the same can be said for our Brother now.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's pre-4004 BC. Crawly discovers that hell wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crawly chapter! Crawly chapter! How can he fuck things up this time?

**Sometime before 4004 BC**

  
In hindsight, perhaps it hadn’t been his finest moment. Honestly, if the Almighty hadn’t wanted critiques She shouldn’t have shown him the Plans in the first place. One moment, he'd been pouring over the blueprints of reality with his kin, weaving together existence like a well loved quilt, and the next, there was a war and everyone was yelling and stabbing and smiting each other. 

  
He hadn’t fought. Ever the healer, it seemed wrong to, even if there was nothing he could do in the face of so much pain. Amidst the chaos of broken wings and spilt holy blood, he’d sauntered vaguely downwards, through the battlefields of heaven, right to the edge. 

  
With the blackness far below, the boiling, rumbling of sulphur and ash rising up, Raphael had tilted his head up to the sky he’d helped build, face twisted into a sneer. 

  
“If you’re kind and so loving, then why create suffering at all?” he’d yelled. “Seems like a fucking contradiction to me!”

  
After that, he’d _intended_ to swan dive off the edge in a dramatic way, all regal and defiant, but instead, someone had barged into him at just the wrong second (he suspected Michael, the wanker). 

  
With a stumble, his foot tangled in his robes, he flailed and tumbled over the edge with a rather undignified screech. 

  
Yes, definitely one of his less proud moments. 

  
“Urggk,” he groaned as he heaved himself out of the boiling sludge some time later. 

  
Everything ached (including all 300 eyes that were neatly stuffed out of sight in the ethereal plane) and everything burnt. His wings were tattered, his hair charred and coated in grime, but the worst of all was the emptiness in his chest. Where there’d once been love, so warm and pure, there was only darkness and the finality of eternity. 

  
Time, having only been recently invented, moved in ways he didn’t quite understand, but despite that, he knew that it'd taken a bloody long time to drag his sorry arse out of the pits and into the queue of the newly fallen. Everyone was filthy and unrecognizable, morphed and twisted (distantly, he wondered what he looked like now he'd been banished). 

  
“Nexzt!” 

  
Realising he was at the front, he stepped forward with an uneven stride. 

  
He was faced by a demon. It was a rotting, wretched thing, with boiling pustules eating away at its twisted features, standing in an off way as if bones and tendons had been stretched and snapped by the Fall. 

  
“Your name?” the demon demanded, tapping a writing implement against what appeared to be a prototype clipboard. 

  
The creature, once named Rapheal by Her, panicked. A name? Shit, they couldn’t mean his angelic name? The one given to him by the one that'd cast them out? Or...had everyone already picked new names? Shit, _shit!_ He hadn’t missed the memo had he? Go- _Lucifer,_ he felt ridiculous. First day and he was already fucking things up. 

  
“Er-“ he croaked, pulling on the last vestiges of imagination he possessed to string together some vaguely name sounding syllables. “Craw-ley?” 

  
Not his best creation, but it was suitably squirmy and disgusting at least.

  
“Crawly,” the other tainted being said. As they scratched the name down, a curious buzzing filled the air as small insects orbited the demon like a more unsanitary version of a halo. “Go report to Lord Zatan with the otherz.” 

  
And like that, the other demon moved along to interrogate the next of their damned brethren. The once archangel, now lowly hell spawn, quickly began staggering off in the same direction as the other newly fallen, his legs stiff, ruined wings aching as he made his way through hell's dark, grimy halls. 

  
...

  
Rapheal- no, Crawly, wasn’t sure what to make of this whole demon business. 

  
He quite liked his new look, all things considered. His body had changed when Her love left him, torn from his essence. Gold eyes were stained an acrid yellow. Delicate muscles carved by God Herself were wasted and thin, his frame too long, too angular, too wane. A snake tattoo tucked beside his ear was the one taunting reminder of Above that he had left. 

  
(Snakes had been his final creation before the Fall. Perhaps She thought his creation too tainted by his hands and had cursed them along with him. Shame really, he liked snakes, with their wiggly little bodies and lovely smooth scales.)

  
The changes definitely appealed to his dramatic side and black had always complimented his skin tone far more than white. 

  
On the other hand, he wasn’t a big fun of the whole, torture, maim and torment thing that the other demons were such a big fan of. There were only so many decapitations he could watch before the whole business seemed a little tasteless. And annoyingly, no one else seemed to be a fan of his rambling tirades about morality and free will, and his grand schemes to cause minor inconveniences for the future mortals were met with disdain. Most of the other demons would just shrug at him and walk away before he even began speaking, or they'd start bashing their head against the nearest wall until he’d shut up. 

  
All in all, as soon as the first field work position opened up, he’d been quick to fill out the forms. (Sure, he could’ve had a promotion if he’d simply announced his previous name, but being a Fallen Archangel™ wasn’t quite his style. It was simply too much attention, too much effort, and too much paperwork. Slithering around as a bog standard fieldwork demon was vastly preferable to the horrors of _middle management._ It wasn’t as if anyone recognised him these days anyway.)

  
He was so quick in fact, that they gave him the job. Which was exactly why he was currently leaning against the wall outside of Satan’s audience chamber, his only company a small demon that seemed to avoid his serpentine gaze. 

  
Finally, the demon clearly its throat. “Lord Satan will see you now.” 

  
Not wanting to keep his _dear_ Brother waiting, he slipped inside. 

  
It was a cavernous space. At first glance, it was stone, but the longer he looked, the more he could make out the twisted screaming forms of pained creatures trapped into every inch of the walls and floor. At the centre of it all was a throne of course, black and intricately carved into vicious spikes (a little over the top in his opinion, but it was hardly his place to give out design tips).

  
Perched upon the throne, was Satan. He looked rather small against the backdrop, but his beauty, unmarked and untainted, was what made him stand out. His Brother looked almost unchanged, the only difference being the new clothes he covered his form in and the rotting, festering hatred that poured off him in waves. 

  
“Demon Crawly, correct?” Satan asked with a low drawl. 

  
Ra- Crawly had been addressed by his Brother many times before, but his voice had never been quite so cold, so cruel.

  
“Yess, my Lord,” he replied with a slight hiss. “Love what you’ve done with the place, by the way. Very- er- _sspooky_.” 

  
For a moment, there was a touch of recognition in Satan's gaze, a slight shift of his shoulders, but it was gone in the blink of an eye, replaced with bored disinterest. “The Almighty has finally created her humans. It would be an awful shame if something were to happen to them, hmm?” Satan said slowly, dragging his nails over his armrest. Crawley couldn’t help but notice the redness that clung to his fingertips. A threat. 

  
Crawly pursed his lips into a grimace and nodded. “Er- yep. I guess so. Yeah.” He’d never had his sibling's way with words. 

  
Satan leant forward, the stench of vile emotions almost suffocating as he grinned.

  
“Go up there and cause some trouble.” 

  
He didn’t need to be told twice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoyed writing this chapter too much. Do let me know what you think.

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter Crowley will actually turn up I promise.


End file.
